


Falling into grace

by simithedemon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Mild Gore, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-29
Updated: 2009-06-29
Packaged: 2018-09-14 08:13:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9170245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simithedemon/pseuds/simithedemon
Summary: Dean has an accident(archiving from LJ)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a straight copy and paste of a fic originally posted on LJ way back in 2009. I've lost the original thanks to a dodgy hard drive, and I know I'll regret losing it completely if LJ does disappear into the ether...

Notes: This came out of nowhere, pretty much fully formed, as a fairly odd daydream that hit me as I wandered home from the shops yesterday. Title borrowed gratefully from the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Many thanks to strangeandcharm for pointing out that I can't stick to one tense to save my soul. Any other mistakes spotted were probably made correcting that one!

The floor of the warehouse didn't look particularly weak, but that was the beauty of the trap. It wasn't until it started to creak and shift beneath their feet that they realised that there was any danger, and by then all Dean had time for was a quick oh shit before they were falling into the darkness below.

It was sheer circumstance that had Dean fall past the wooden beam and pure instinct and long honed reflexes that enabled him to grab on. It was those reflexes that also enabled Dean to keep hanging on, even when the sudden searing pain in his right hand made him desperate to release his grip.

Dean braced, and prepared to take all his weight on his left hand as he moved his hand away from whatever it was that was hurting his right. It was only this attempt to move that made him realise that he was screwed. Whatever he’d done, his hand was stuck, skewered on something embedded in the beam. Even the slightest movement sent waves of hot and cold pain shooting up his arm, bringing him out in a cold sweat and making his stomach clench in nausea. Bad idea, no more moving.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to look down, past his dangling feet to where Sam and Castiel would have fallen. He couldn’t see much, the light coming from the warehouse above was indistinct and he was hampered by the sweat that dripped down into his eyes and stung. Blinking didn’t help, so he grit his teeth and tried wiping his brow on his left sleeve without putting too much pressure on his injured hand. It was a damn near impossibility. Dean wasn’t sure how much longer he could grip with it, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold on with just his left for very long. His mind skittered past the image of what would happen if all his weight fell suddenly on his right.

He peered down again, and realised with relief that he could see the floor below. It was a drop, but nothing fatal.

“Sam! Cas! Wake up dudes, need a bit of help here. C’mon, you don’t need that much beauty sleep, won’t do you much good anyhow.”

He hung there, swaying gently and listened for any sign of life below, and tried to ignore the cramping in his hands.

“Dean? What are doing? Are you waiting for me to catch you?” Sam walked around into Dean’s view, rubbing the side of his head with one hand. Giving Dean a look that was part amusement and part bitchface, he stood below him and waited expectantly.

“I’m stuck.”

Sam’s look slipped quickly into worry and, raising himself up to his fullest height, he tried unsuccessfully to see to where Dean was gripping tightly.

“What’s happened?”

“Not sure. I think maybe I’ve grabbed onto a bit with a nail. It feels like something’s pinning my hand. I can let go, but it’s not going anywhere. I can’t see a damned thing hanging here, and I’ve got no leverage to lift myself up.”

Sam quickly disappeared from Dean’s view. A loud scraping suddenly sounds from behind. Startled, he gripped the beam tighter, then swore inventively under his breath as the involuntary action sent a fresh wave of pain shooting down his arm. A sudden grab at his boots startled him again, and he pulled his legs up, twisting around in a vain attempt to see what was going on.

“What the fuck?”

“Hold still.” Sam’s voice piped up from directly underneath him, far closer than Dean expected. “I found an old table that should hold me. Let me get it in the right place and I can take some of your weight onto my shoulders, take some of the strain off your hands.”

Dean felt Sam moving about beneath him, then his feet were resting on something solid and he was moving upwards, Sam’s height lifting him closer to the beam. Taking advantage of his brother’s support, he quickly wiped his left hand down his jeans before grabbing the beam again, this time managing to wrap his entire arm around the wood.

The sight of his injured hand turned his stomach. Not one but two large nails protruded out of the mess that was the back of his hand. His hand had had to take the entire weight of his body as he had tried to save himself, and this had forced the blunt heads of the nails straight through, puncturing and ripping the delicate flesh and bones of his hand. Dean realised this was something beyond their limited, albeit competent, medical skills. He was going to need professional help with this, if he could get out of the mess they were currently in. Struck with a thought he turned back down towards Sam.

“Where’s Cas?”

Sam paused before answering, and sounded evasive when he finally answered. “Can we get you sorted first?”

“Sam...”

Sam huffed beneath him, jiggling Dean’s feet as his shoulders moved. “Ok, fine. He’s still out.”

“He’s an angel. How can he be ‘out’?”

“The entire room’s covered with anti-angel sigils, like the ones we saw in when Alastair was going after the Reapers. I think they’ve sapped his mojo or something. He’s OK, just... out of it. Can we concentrate on you for a minute? You’re heavy dude.”

Dean forced his attention back to his hand. Just attempting to lift it clear didn’t work, he must have hit at an angle or maybe the nails had shifted with the impact. This was going to be messy.

“Sam. Do you think you can hold my weight, if I let go for a while?”

He felt Sam shifting around again, then two strong hands clasped around his shins, steadying his legs.

“Go for it, but quickly Dean. This table’s not the most stable. We need to get you down.”

Dean gingerly let go, and arranged himself carefully, shoulder supported by the beam, in order to reach his other hand. Sam’s fingers dug deep into the muscle of his legs as he kept his brother steady.

“Dude, you seriously need to lay off the cheeseburgers for a bit.”

“Bite me.” Dean said distractedly, fingers tugging gently on the nails embedded into his flesh. He pulled harder, the nails still not giving an inch. Dean gulped. He could see only one way out if he was going to get down any time soon.

“Sam. Think you can catch me?”

“Dean, wha..?”

Dean didn’t give Sam a chance to finish. He took a deep breath, and pulled his hand up as hard as he could. As a burst of almost indescribable pain exploded out of his hand, he had a single moment of clarity, where he knew that it just wasn’t going to be enough, that he was going to go under and still be attached to the goddamned piece of wood. As he slipped into darkness he was almost relieved to feel the rip of flesh as his hand tore free. Hot splashes of blood hit his face as his arm swung gracefully upwards, unbalancing Dean from his precarious position and pushing him backwards. He heard Sam swearing and felt him grab at his legs, then...nothing.

***

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Sam grasped at his brother as he began to fall. He caught hold of whatever clothing was in reach, pulling it closer and grabbing more, all the time fighting to stay balanced on the rickety table beneath him. It felt like hours, but it could only have been seconds before he got his fingers caught in the material of Dean’s flannel shirt and then slid his arms around his brother’s waist. It was too much for his precarious position however, and with a lurch he felt himself going backwards. He groaned loudly as he hit the table hard, the air pushed out of his chest by the additional dead weight of his brother. A loud crack signalled the demise of one of the table legs, and Sam found himself tangled with his brother, sliding into an undignified, but unhurt heap on the floor.

He lay there for a second, before pushing himself up off the floor. Cradling Dean in one arm, he pulled the damaged arm closer, trying to assess the damage. He knew Dean was closemouthed about pain, but this put his stoicism into uncharted regions. Sam couldn’t help but blanch as he looked at the damage. He could see through the centre, as if someone had used a giant hole punch on the hand. The flesh was badly lacerated, bones were clearly broken and his middle finger was slack. Sam could guess that this indicated some kind of tendon damage, but this injury was far beyond their self taught medical skills. He needed to get Dean to a hospital and fast, but first he needed to at least wrap it enough to staunch the constant, sluggish flow of blood.

Lowering Dean carefully onto the floor, he gently rested Dean’s damaged arm onto his belly, then quickly stripped off his top layer of clothing. The knife concealed in Dean’s boot was ideal to rip the shirt into strips, and soon he had a pile of makeshift bandages and no excuse to put off tending the mess that was his brother’s hand.

“Here goes nothing.” Sam hesitated, then carefully started to lift Dean’s hand. He flinched as it caught on the material of his shirt, then froze as Dean moaned and tried to pull his hand away. Dean’s eyes fluttered and rolled open, the flesh around them bruised and dark, contrasting starkly with the pallor of the rest. With a jerk, Dean rolled away from Sam, and stood up. He swayed for a moment then stumbled a few steps before grasping the edge of the broken table and vomiting on the floor.

“Dean, your hand...”

Dean held a finger up to indicate he needed a minute, and wiped his hand slowly across his mouth. Sam could see the effort he was expending to stay upright and wished for a second that he would just black out again. Dean’s legs trembled as he cradled his injured arm to his stomach and breathed harshly in an attempt to regain some control. Blood dripped steadily onto the floor, and started to pool at Dean’s feet. Sam tried again.

“Dean, please, I need to stop the bleeding at least.” Dean glared over at Sam and raised his injured hand above his head, attempting to keep it elevated, face taut with pain. Sam could see the whiteness of Dean’s knuckles as he gripped the edge of the table, struggling to cope with the sensations the movement caused. He held out for a second then vomited again, sweat and tears rolling down his face as he heaved and spat onto the floor.

Sam felt helpless. He’d seen Dean in pain before, but never this badly and they weren’t usually cut off so completely from medical help. He thought longingly of the emergency stash of morphine hidden in the trunk of the Impala, parked tantalisingly close yet completely out of reach. He flipped open his cell phone, and checked it again. No bars, no coverage, no rescue, not for a while at least. Bobby knew roughly where they were, but wasn’t expecting them to check in any time soon.

“Dean, I’m sorry. You’ve got to let me look at it. Unless you’re planning on losing so much blood that you faint again? It’ll be quicker if you let me just knock you out.” Sometimes baiting Dean was the only way forward.

Sam walked over to Dean, and carefully laid a hand on his shoulder. He could feel Dean shudder with even that light touch, and wondered if he was really going to have to knock his brother out.

“Check on Cas, and then we’ll do it.” Sam began to protest, then stopped at the look on Dean’s face. “Please Sam. I’m not sure if I can do this; just make sure he’s OK in case you end up with two of us to babysit.”

Sam pursed his lips and made his way back over to the corner where Castiel had landed. He’d straightened him out when he’d first found him, but hadn’t given much thought beyond that. He was an angel, even with his powers curtailed by the traps laid in the room; the fall shouldn’t have had that much of an effect on him. He was more worried about Dean at this point, Castiel still made him feel a bit nervous although he’d come around to the fact that he was obviously on their side, well, Dean’s side anyway.

He knelt down beside the angel’s prone body and went to check his pulse. As his fingers touched the side of his neck, Castiel’s eyes opened and gazed groggily into his own.

“He’s fine, he’s awake.” Sam called back over to Dean. He stood, pulling Castiel up with him.

“Are you Ok?”

“I’m fine Sam. Although this place makes me feel uncomfortable, it’s not harmful.”

“Yep, well this place has managed to be both uncomfortable and harmful for Dean.”

Castiel looked at Sam quizzically, then strode past him to where Dean was standing. He examined the mess of Dean’s right hand before moving directly in front of him.

“I cannot help you with this Dean, I’m sorry. Until we get free of these seals I can’t even make you to sleep.” He placed his hand on the side of Dean’s face, and Sam watched with interest and a degree of surprise as Dean leant into it, rather than pulling away as expected. Taking advantage of Dean’s distraction he moved closer, then spoke softly to Castiel.

“Cas, I need to deal with Dean’s hand. Can you help me keep him still whilst I do it?”

“How?”

“I don’t know, improvise? He’s letting you touch him which is strangely disturbing, but more than he’ll let me do at the moment.”

Dean raised his head and attempted to glare at the two men in front of him.

“Hey! Still here y’know. Sorry Sam, s’not you. Cas just feels...safe, must be some angel mojo.” He leant forward and rested his head on Castiel’s shoulder. Sam looked questioningly over Castiel, who shook his head slightly in denial. He shrugged it off; figuring out what was going on in Dean’s head could wait. Anything that would help get them through this could only be good. Taking a deep breath, he set to work on Dean’s hand.

***

 

The pain was bad. Dean had had worse. Thirty years of constant torture in Hell had left plenty of opportunities for mind destroying agony, but the pain in his hand was definitely up there in the top forty of his Billboard hits. It was both nauseating and distracting, and set off chains of memories of other moments in other company which only served to turn his stomach more. It was an annoying fact that no matter how much you suffer, the next lot of suffering was still fucking awful, so, as much as he would like to brush this off as a minor injury, it still hurt to a point that was pushing him almost beyond his limits.

Then Castiel had touched him, and he had felt safe in a way that made the pain not less, but easier to bear. Leaning his head on the angel’s shoulder, he breathed in the scent of Castiel, and tried to ignore the throbbing ball of pain at the end of his arm.

Sam’s first touch was agonising. It felt like fire and ice crawling up the nerves in his arm, making Dean’s stomach knot and forcing an involuntary moan out of his throat. He instinctively dragged Castiel nearer, his free hand tangled in the back of Castiel’s ridiculously pristine coat and sank his teeth into the material in front of him, trying to muffle the sound of his own pain. He felt, rather than heard the indrawn breath Castiel took, before he hesitantly wrapped one arm around his shaking body, and used the other to cradle the back of Dean’s head, holding it firmly against his shoulder.

Sam started to wind the makeshift bandages around Dean’s hand, inadvertently moving the tiny broken bones so that Dean could feel them grind against each other. Dean felt Castiel grip his head tighter, perhaps anticipating Dean trying to move away from the pain, but Dean’s instinctive reaction was to turn his head, so he could feel the angel’s skin against his own. Dean wasn’t sure why Sam was so convinced that Cas had been put out of commission, because the feel of Castiel’s soft skin wouldn’t help in any way, shape or form, unless there was some kind of angelic mojo going on. Ignoring the increasing pain from his hand Dean pushed his face further into Castiel’s neck. It smelt warm and safe and he couldn’t resist the urge to taste it. He ran his tongue lightly over the small piece of Cas in front of his mouth and managed a small smirk when the hand on his head tightened again, and pulled him in further.

A small voice in the back of his head wondered briefly what the hell he was doing, but the larger part revelled in the welcome distraction and pondered why it had taken doing that to his hand to make him do this to Castiel.

Castiel pulled Dean’s head back and looked at him. He didn’t have a clue what Castiel was thinking, but his gaze seemed to be searching for something from him. All he could do was hold tightly and hope that he hadn’t crossed a line too far. Whatever Castiel was looking for, he seemed to find it, and his face relaxed enough to give Dean that quirky almost smile that he’d seen so rarely. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and lowered his face, brushing his lips lightly across Dean’s.

Dean pushed forward again, pressing his lips harder against Castiel’s. He let his tongue trace the line of his mouth and breathed in, taking the air that Castiel exhaled and holding it in his chest like the angel was his drug of choice. He could feel the heat from this almost chaste exchange catching throughout his body, and he grinned triumphantly as Castiel took charge. Tilted his head just so, and captured his mouth in a kiss that was as far from chaste as you could get. He could feel him touching in a line down his body; from his mouth, chests and legs pressed together, arms wrapped around and clutching tight. He was aware of Sam working on his hand, but that faded away as he drank in the heat from Castiel’s kiss.

By the time Castiel pulled away, he was shuddering from more than shock and bloodloss. He was painfully hard in his jeans, and his head was spinning with the need for more contact. He almost moaned as Castiel pulled away, still supporting him, but no longer touching quite so intimately.

A polite cough from Sam drew his attention and Dean flushed as he realised what he’d just done. His brother had finished wrapping his hand and now stood there awkwardly, his face veering between shock and amusement.

“Just...shut up.” He said, voice husky. Sam put his hands up in mock surrender and continued to look between the pair, smirking as he did so.

Dean looked back over at Castiel, to find him looking up at the broken floor above them, head tilted and face furrowed in concentration. He resisted the urge to smooth out the creases in the centre of his brow, he might have kissed him, but he’s not a girl and if Sam implied he was, he’d regret it. Castiel suddenly looked down, at him and then Sam.

“Bobby’s here.”

Sam looked surprised. “How the hell did he know we needed him?”

“Whilst I was unconscious, after we fell, I... contacted him. We were doubly fortunate in that Bobby was sleeping and that the forgers of this place hadn’t thought to bar that method of communication.”

“Cas...” Dean looked at Castiel, and found himself suddenly stuck for words.

“Dean. We need to leave, can we discuss this later?”

“Cas is right, you need a hospital and surgery. C'mon dude, you can embarrass yourself later.” Sam turned and waved up at Bobby who was signalling from the lip of the hole above them.

The next few hours turned into a buzz of activity, ropes and pulleys and tortuous swinging journeys back up to the dubious safety of the warehouse. Dean found himself slipping in and out of consciousness, catching odd bits of conversations, waking first in the arms of his brother, then in the back of the Impala, and then in the starched sheets of a hospital bed, the professional bandages and IV tubes showing that he had slept through his treatment, not for the first time.

He sighed, and looked at his brother curled awkwardly in a plastic hospital chair, drooling slightly as he slept.

“You’ve been out for a while this time, but you’ll be pleased to hear that your hand will be fine. The doctors have said that Sam’s work probably saved a couple of your fingers, and Bobby getting you here so quickly made their job a lot easier.”

Dean turned towards the sound of Castiel’s voice, to see him sitting in a chair almost identical to Sam’s. The drugs made him groggy, but he remembered everything from the basement. He was struck with the urge to find out how much better touching Castiel could be, without the distraction from his hand. He was cautious though, this was an angel in front of him, an angel he would have classified as pretty damn near untouchable until now.

“Hey. Um, are things OK with us?”

“They are fine Dean.” Castiel smiled briefly. “But I think now is not the time to have the discussion you want.”

“Should I be saying sorry?”

Castiel leant over the bed and lightly brushed his fingers over Dean’s dry lips, before softly kissing them. Dean held his breath, wary of doing the wrong thing, holding back from reaching up and dragging Castiel down onto the bed beside him.

“Does that answer your question?”

Dean grinned up at him. He had no idea where this was going, or what it meant, but frankly at this moment he didn’t care.

“Yep, I guess it does.”


End file.
